Before I sleep
by Hotaru Mirai-96
Summary: "The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."- Robert Frost. A newly deceased woman gets reborn into a place of elves and blights, too bad her sister was the one who knew all about this world. And now she wants to help her new brother on a journey to save Ferelden. OC, Semi-self insert.


**Disclaimer**: _I do not own Dragon age, any of them._

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**Mort**

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I thought the way I'd die would be in a hospital bed surrounded by my children and grandchildren while the doctor would take the pain from my old withered body. I thought I could pass on happily and know that my family would proceed in life.

Instead I died at the ripe age of twenty-eight. I got mugged out of all things; I was caught unguarded and got stabbed in the chest with a sharp curved blade that I felt sink slowly into my flesh—like a knife through butter. I can remember his eyes, a sharp cold blue surrounded by long lashes as my killer stared at me blankly.

I remember trying to talk, and the gurgle of blood in my throat as he twisted the knife then pulled it sharply out with a loud squelch. My hands fluttered around the wound as I fell slowly forward, my mind panicking and screaming at me to move.

Strangely my killer caught me; the details after this grow vague, he looked to be glowing—glowing?—faintly the same cold color of his eyes and I saw his mouth move. His teeth looked strange; the canines grew sharp to a point and the rest of his teeth looked jagged and ready to tear into flesh.

This was about the time I died, a soft hum invaded my ears as everything blurred and finally vanished.

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I'm quite happy that I can't remember my first birth, because the whole experience is suffocating and strange. When I became aware again I felt really warm and I heard the faint pleasant sound of a woman's voice and the deep chuckle of a man.

I gradually grew uncomfortable, my hands were basically stuffed into my face and my legs felt numb. I tried to roll over, found out that wherever I was did not have enough space for me to move a hand; let alone my whole body. I heard a growl, too high to be male and then the space around me was moving.

I don't know how much time passed, but suddenly I was being forcefully pushed from my warm space. I tried vainly to cling, curling myself more into a ball. I felt like I was being pushed through a pencil sharpener, my innards felt constricted but finally I reached—ohmygoditscold.

Someone lifted me, and stuffed something down my throat forcefully until I took a breath…and it hurt. My arms and legs flailed around in random movements, and my mouth opened in a wail. Someone started laughing, sounding pleased with themself.

Bastard.

Words were muffled, but I knew that I had been passed to someone much warmer and comforting. The soft tones of a woman and the comfortable warmth put me to sleep, which happened quite a lot in the beginning.

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My eyesight and hearing became okay by the time I reached a month in the warmth of someone's arms—by this time I also knew that I was a baby. Freaked me out when I found out, especially when I would feel helpless when someone changed my dipper. Gah, the horror and embarrassment of someone else cleaning up after me—a twenty-eight year old woman—was completely mortifying.

Although like many things I grew use to it, and eventually thanked them (the people who are now my mother and father) for keeping me clean and fresh. Generally. Sometimes my brother would do it and I'd cry because he was too rough.

Speaking of which, my brother is an idiot. Even for a nine year old, he defies the normal cuteness—okay he has his moments—of being a child, he reminds me of a grumpy cat. He'll do stuff if he wants to, not if he has to. I found out his name was Alim and that my name was Lindir, or Lin as he kept repeating.

Also I found out my parents' names are Mirielle (mother) and Caranthir (father)—although everyone just called them Miri and Caran. We like to shorten our names in this family; I even nicknamed Alim and dubbed him "Al". Our stern name was Surana, which meant joyous.

When I could finally see them properly, I was shocked at the bright vibrant red color of my brother's hair and the wide brown eyes that stared at me with strange intensity. He grinned and suddenly he was yelling for our parents and was saying, "Her eyes look like mine!"

Miri was the first to arrive, she was a strange beauty—kind of plain but at the same time not. Her long black hair tumbled past her waist, but was pulled into a long braid that hung over her right shoulder; her eyes shared the same dull brown as my brother—and apparently mine. She picked me out of my brother's arm, cooing at me in the weird baby babble that all parents used. I had the erg to hit her.

Caran arrived next, at the front door of our house, carrying an axe of all things and stared at me, his jaw hanging open. He had the same bright hair as Alim, but was cut short unlike my brothers and dark blue eyes surrounded by a faint orange tint. Although my gaze was mostly focused on his ears, which usually normally curved—looked more like sharp knives on each side of his head. Elf ears! That's so cool!

Wait—does that mean I have them? Hmm.

"Caran, dear, pick up your jaw." Miri said with amusement in her voice.

He snapped his jaw and walked over to me, staring straight into my dull eyes. He whispered, "She looks like you, Miri."

Just like my other life, I took after my mother—but it does makes sense seeing as I'm a girl and all that. I giggled, trying in vain to reach out towards Miri and pull her hair. At my mother side I could vaguely see Alim clinging to her dress, and the same pointed ear poking out from his messy hair. He grinned at me, waving.

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I turned two the first time I saw my brother doing magic. He waved it off as unimportant and would show me how he could make the candle flicker in my bedroom. By this time my family had learned that I wasn't exactly a normal two year old, even without my quiet and reserved demeanor, there was something in my eyes, they said—something old. I felt insulted that they called me old.

Anyway, when he showed me the first time I grew worried. Miri had told me about the Templars who would come take Alim away, how they would force him to leave and never let us speak again. Although eleven, Alim had grown slightly more mature and told me that he would be careful. Idiot he is, he was never quite careful enough.

Now that I could talk, I openly called him stupid. Miri said that was a bad word and I shrugged, "Still doesn't change that he is."

"Lin is a meany!" He would pout, but there would be the mischievous glint in his eyes. Even though he's an idiot we share an awkward sort of bond that in my past life I had not shared with my siblings. The woman that was me basically was known as the black sheep of that family, and who didn't want anything to do with her siblings. At least in this life I feel excepted—although sometimes my parents look a little worried at my above average intelligence.

At least that shows they care, my old family was okay with me if I at least got a job and wasn't a complete failure. At a young age they would support me, but as the family grew and I got older I started feeling like a girl living in a house with strangers. A bit awkward, to say the least.

Alim waved a hand in front of my face, grinning as he led me across the bridge of Lothering and ignored the disgruntled humans that stared at two elven children with barely concealed hate. This is sadly common, but the most horrible thing is that when I leave our hut with my mother the leers from human men she receives are many. She tries to look unaffected, but sometimes as night I can hear Caran saying how someday our kind would rise and become strong once again. Like the Dalish, who I learned were elves that didn't want to obey human rules and instead followed rules of their elven ancestors.

But until then, my family is never safe—because we have a different ear shape and belief system than humans.

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**AN: If anyone reads this, please review! Thanks!**


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